


Ache Like a Full Body Bruise

by FoMT



Series: Witcher Kink Meme Fills [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fisting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Witcher Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24908290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoMT/pseuds/FoMT
Summary: Jaskier notices that Geralt has a kink. He decides to encourage him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Kink Meme Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802392
Comments: 16
Kudos: 234
Collections: Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	Ache Like a Full Body Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this kink meme prompt: 
> 
> https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=509613#cmt509613

Jaskier has had a lot of sex in his life, and a lot of really exotic and athletic sex at that. Various positions, various partners, sometimes at the same time, various accoutrements… He enjoyed it all. What was the point in life if you didn't taste everything it had to offer?

So of course, he was enthusiastic when he realized Geralt had a kink. It wasn't immediately obvious, partly because Geralt seemed to be purposely avoiding calling attention to it, but Jaskier concluded that Geralt liked seeing him stuffed full. He'd tease Jaskier's rim with his thumbs sometimes while fucking him, and would very occasionally lean back to watch while doing so. Sometimes, before Jaskier blacked out at the end of the night, he'd feel Geralt's fingers shove back into his hole and stretch out, as if testing how wide it was.

So Jaskier was fairly sure what Geralt was into, but he wanted a little confirmation. He was happy to go along with any kinks Geralt had—it was _Geralt._ But getting Geralt to talk about it just wasn’t going to happen. So he'd have to improvise a little.

Their relationship was still relatively new, but years of pining and tension meant it was also very passionate. Jaskier hadn't been fucked up against so many trees… ever, actually. And they wound up in inns more in the past few months than they had before, using the coin that they used for brothels before getting their shit together.

So the next time they got an inn, they washed thoroughly and Jaskier convinced Geralt to retire to bed early with him. It wasn't hard. Geralt had the sex drive of a succubus, and Jaskier knew from personal experience on both accounts.

Everything started normally—Geralt attacked Jaskier's neck and chest until no shirt would hide how thoroughly he'd been ravished, and slowly and carefully fingered him open. Jaskier had been surprised, at first, how gentle Geralt was during sex. Thinking about his supposed kink, it made a little more sense. The more thoroughly and slowly Jaskier was fingered and fucked, the more his hole would gape when it was over. Just thinking about it brought a flush to his face.

Jaskier could tell when Geralt was finally ready to move on, and determined it was now or never.

"Give me another."

"Hm?" Geralt's eyes flicked up after a second, distracted by watching Jaskier's hole twitch.

Jaskier was already panting and flushed from the attention, cock stiff and flush against his stomach, but he knew how to edge himself, and resisted the temptation to touch it. Instead, he grabbed Geralt's hair and tugged him close. "Give me another finger," he half-moaned into Geralt's mouth, then kissed him through his sharp intake of breath.

The kiss quickly grew sloppy and aimless, and Jaskier fumbled to the side to grab the jar of slick that Geralt now kept just as topped off as any of his witcher potions, and nudged him in the side with it. Geralt pulled away a little, studying Jaskier's face with wide eyes, before recoating his fingers, including the fourth. He teased Jaskier's rim with his fingertips, and Jaskier's breath hitched, then he gave Geralt the most reassuring nod he could manage, and Geralt dove back in. His mouth trailed light kisses all up and down Jaskier's neck, and the three fingers that now fit snuggly inside him soon turned to four.

Geralt trailed kisses all down Jaskier's body, carefully avoiding his now angrily red cock, until he was in a position to watch his hand. After that, Jaskier watched through hazy, half-lowered eyes as Geralt became transfixed with the sight before him. He pushed his fingers in and out of Jaskier, slowly, lazily, wiggling them slightly. Jaskier felt an indolent pride from being the subject of such devoted attention. Geralt scissored his fingers inside Jaskier, and he couldn't help but gasp loudly. He'd been fisted before, once, but it was by an inquisitive young noblewoman, whose fingers and fists both were much smaller than Geralt's. Geralt's eyes snapped to Jaskier's face at the noise, his hand freezing in its motion.

Jaskier's breath was temporarily stolen, but he didn't want Geralt to stop, so he batted lightly at the jar of slick and pushed it farther toward Geralt. He watched those cat eyes flick to the jar, then back to his face. His hand pushed incrementally forward, bumping his knuckles against Jaskier's rim. Jaskier took a deep breath and willed his vocal cords to work. "Please," he breathed, barely voiced.

Luckily, that was all the push Geralt needed. He carefully inched his hand out as Jaskier whined, recoated it in slick, and plunged back in. This time when he was knuckles deep, he tucked his thumb into his palm and slowly rotated his hand, squeezing it further in. Jaskier could barely breathe. It was so much. He could hear himself gasping and moaning, but his head felt light, like he wasn't getting enough air.

After an indeterminate amount of time that felt simultaneously like seconds and hours, Geralt's knuckled made their way past the rim and his hand sunk smoothly into Jaskier up to the wrist. Jaskier's eyes snapped open. He couldn't say when he'd closed them. His hand flew blindly to Geralt and grasped somewhere near his shoulder, and he rolled his eyes forward to look at him.

Geralt had never looked more beautiful. His eyes were burning with heat, his mouth involuntarily open slightly to pant, and there was a flush to his skin that Jaskier thought was supposed to be impossible. Jaskier couldn't say what he looked like himself at that moment, but he doubted it was a sight worthy of that reaction. He couldn't pull off that golden gleam of sweat like Geralt did. But at least Geralt looked like he was having fun. Jaskier thought he probably was too, but couldn't manage to put together enough thoughts to come to a conclusion one way or the other.

And then Geralt started moving his hand, and Jaskier lost his remaining threads of sense. He was hazily aware of the golden glow of the candlelight, the slippery rub of slick and sweat, the nearly unbearable heat both from within and from Geralt on top of him, the bunching of the sheets under him. His body jerked and shifted with each movement of Geralt's hand, completely without his permission, as flashes of pleasure raced through his veins at every moment. It was almost too much, but he didn't have the words to say so anyway. He grabbed on to the parts of Geralt he could reach and held on.

"Jaskier?"

When time and shapes and words began making sense again, he could hear Geralt calling him. He groaned and blinked up to see Geralt hovering above his face. Apparently satisfied that Jaskier hadn't passed out, he backed off, and Jaskier could then look at him properly. Jaskier's stomach was covered with more come than he'd ever seen in one place. They'd have to reimburse the inn for their sheets because they were so drenched in fluids, even the best laundry maid couldn't get it out. And when he shifted, he realized that not only were there even more fluids inside, there were also _still fingers in there._

"Geralt?"

"Mm?"

"I—" Jaskier didn't know what to say. He didn’t want to dissuade Geralt from something that they both obviously enjoyed, but it was all a little much to take in at the moment. "How many times—"

"Three," Geralt interrupted, slightly breathless. There was a shine in his eyes, like he couldn't believe it. _Jaskier_ couldn't believe it.

"And you?"

"…Twice," he replied more hesitantly. They both looked down, where Geralt was still hard. His fingers twitched inside Jaskier, but he could barely feel it. A lot of time must have passed because Jaskier felt both slightly numb and desperately empty, even with three fingers in him.

"May as well round it off then?" He encouraged, lying back and pulling Geralt over with him. Geralt obligingly let himself be moved, and paused only slightly at the entrance before sliding his cock into Jaskier once more. Or for the first time? Jaskier didn't actually have any specific memory of being fucked earlier that night, but his senses did check out for a good while, and it felt _so right._ He wondered how Geralt would feel about letting him fall asleep on his cock. He'd probably be up for it.

Jaskier was trembling and weak, so he left the heavy work to Geralt, who very happily fucked him slowly, gently, carefully rolling his hips in a few inches and out a few, never fully pulling out. Instead, he pet through Geralt's hair and peppered light kisses all over his face, admiring the way Geralt squinted his eyes to slits and bit his lower lip, overwhelmed. When Geralt finally finished and moved to pull out, Jaskier pulled his hair like reins until he could whisper in his ear, "wait. Leave it in?" And Geralt shuddered and muffled a moan into Jaskier's shoulder, carefully turning them onto their sides while staying seated inside him.

The next morning Jaskier felt like a full-body bruise, and very nearly looked like one too, but Geralt looked at him like he couldn't believe Jaskier was real, and his wide-eyed, hopeful glance when he inevitably reached down to find Jaskier's hole still wide and fluttering around his fingers ensured an admittedly enjoyable round two using just mouth and fingers before they cleaned up and found out what the extra expenses were for ruining the bed.

\--

Of course, it was only really feasible to do the whole fist when they were staying in a proper inn, and even then Geralt deemed some inn beds not good enough. Jaskier was inclined to trust his instincts, as four out of five times fisting pushed him nearly unconscious and left him so sore in the morning that often Geralt would just cave and buy the room for two nights at the start.

But now that they were both on board, there were other things they could try. As much as it was overwhelming, the really overwhelming part was the effect it had on Geralt. Jaskier was a little bit addicted, and decided that he'd risk ruining himself to see that awed, heated expression on Geralt's face as much as possible.

So Jaskier encouraged Geralt to add a finger, or even two, alongside his cock when they fucked at the campsite. He went out of his way to find a seller of marital aids, and explained to Geralt one memorable night what a plug was. Not long after, Geralt had taken his own initiative and acquired a series of plugs of different sizes, which from that point forth he made Jaskier use for increasing increments each day. Not a month later, Jaskier was so used to some of the smaller ones that it felt more unnatural not to have one in. The larger ones—well, they were more for the purpose of edging, Jaskier thought, and Geralt always had a sixth sense as to when Jaskier's knees would buckle from the teasing rub against his insides, and would whisk him off into the bushes for a quickie.

After a few times practicing, Jaskier actually felt like his limits were expanding. It was also during practice with the plugs that Geralt realized that they had the secondary use of holding his come in. Jaskier will never forget the firelight in his eyes the first time he plugged Jaskier up after stuffing him full of come and made him walk to the next village that way. He couldn't keep his eyes off him, and they barely made it to the inn.

\--

Recently, Geralt has picked up a new habit of whittling at the campfire. Jaskier doesn't know what he's making, but considering that their recent past times are 80% made up of kink, he has a pretty good guess. Only… it's rather… large. Jaskier has steadily made it up to fitting the largest plug they own inside him, though he can't walk with it in so they only really use it when they stop at an inn for a fisting session.

Even after so many times, the awe on Geralt's face when his knuckles sink into Jaskier never fades. Jaskier loves it.

Nevertheless, Jaskier's current everyday plug is definitely bigger than it was when they started, and that was on Jaskier's request, if he's perfectly honest. After being stretched so often and so much over the past couple months, the smaller plugs no longer really do anything for him. He just feels so… empty, without it. And come to think of it, he's stopped fully blacking out when fisted, too. His body is slowly but surely adapting to this new lifestyle. It's amazing, and exhilarating, but also… a little scary.

He blows out an airy laugh, and Geralt raises an eyebrow at him over the fire. "No," he says, "it's just… My body's gotten so used to our new hobby, pretty soon I think nothing but your fist will satisfy it." He says it lightly, jokingly, and startles when Geralt's project drops to the ground with a thunk. He looks up to see Geralt gripping desperately at his pant leg with one hand, the other pressed tight to his mouth to stifle any sound, eyes wide and wanting.

Later that night, when both are happily sated, Geralt drops his whittling project awkwardly next to Jaskier's hip. He holds it up. It's not fully shaped, just a post with a spherical bit on the end, but it's really, awfully large, and he seriously hopes Geralt is planning on whittling down more before sanding and finishing it. Before he can say anything, Geralt lies back down next to him, and wordlessly holds his arm up next to it, fist clenched. Jaskier's eyes widen. It's a near perfect copy in width. So much so he wonders briefly if you can cast wood the same way you can metal.

His worn, stretched hole gives an interested flutter.

Geralt, for once, seems to correctly read the flabbergasted expression on his face for the excitement that it really is, and kisses the corner of his mouth with a smug grin before cuddling close to sleep.


End file.
